


álfatrú (belief in elves)

by americanjedi



Series: Beautiful Icelandic Words [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Bullying, Elf Culture & Customs, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, Tumblr Prompt, mostly they sit on a hill and talk, so sorry if its oc or weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanjedi/pseuds/americanjedi
Summary: Sportacus finds out Ziggy has been bullied and tries to give him some level of comfort.





	álfatrú (belief in elves)

**Author's Note:**

> My first Lazytown fanfic!
> 
> Please keep in mind that I asked for prompts to get a handle on characters and to practice in the world of Lazytown and so there's going to be a learning curve. Hopefully its enjoyable, if not I welcome any sort of constructive criticism and guidance. Also, I really like the idea of elves having characteristics that are different than humans and so I played with that a bit. Maybe it worked? Also its not betaed because a) time, and b) I don’t know any Lazytown betas yet.
> 
> Also! frightenedfawn on tumblr made a post of beautiful Icelandic words that I think I will use for titles in my Lazytown fics. The post is here: http://frightenedfawn.tumblr.com/post/156812413581/beautiful-icelandic-words

Sportacus had always been restless. When Sportacus was younger, Pabbi had considered him in that brusque way of his, patted his head and told him he was just his own sort of person. He had liked the idea of being his own sort of person. It sounded promising, it sounded special, it sounded like the beginning of an adventure. Here he was now, in the middle of his adventure and still inarguably restless. 

It was an etched in part of him, like his Name, like the same old instinct that made Sportacus tread careful at crossroads. A second skeleton he wore under his skin, a second set of ears attuned to hear, a second set of nerves singing with electricity. It gave him the need to keep watch over the city that he’d adopted and that had adopted him, an anxiety to be actively available. For children, absence and omission could be as harmful as open malice. The children of Lazytown just wanted attention, just wanted someone to listen to them. The knowledge set him orbiting Lazytown in his airship, telescope out.

There was faint vibration against his chest, just someone in vague distress, not quite someone in trouble. His crystal hummed and buzzed from time to time, like when Robbie was suffering from insomnia, or when Trixie’s mother felt lonely, so today wasn’t any different until he spotted two boys pushing and tugging on the familiar shape of Ziggy. They had him by the cape like a baby bird by the wing and were dragging him backwards up a hill. No sooner had Sportacus recognized what was happening, processed it, he found he’s already leapt from the airship, his teeth bared. 

Sportacus wasn’t quite sure how he got there, other than he got there fast, but the damage seemed already done. Ziggy lay crumpled on the ground, and the two boys stood over him with his cape in their hands. His body felt steaming with temper, he could feel the heavy knit in his brow. He felt his ears twitch hard under his cap as they tried to lay back against his head. It took real effort not to bear his fangs at them. The boys were being cruel, but they were still children. He tried to remember that. He tried really hard.

“Give me that,” he ordered, hand out. His voice sounded like flint, like the crack of glaciers. There had to be a way to soften it, but he couldn’t think of anything but the soft sound of Ziggy’s tears and the horrible nonsense certainty that the boys had torn off Ziggy’s wings. It made him equal measures ill and furious for all he knew little human boys didn’t have wings. 

The boys tossed the cape at him and fled. Despite his anger, no amount of fury could cause him to chase after the boys and leave Ziggy, the youngest of his charges. He had the boys’ scent now, he could find them when he was in control of himself.

“Ziggy,” Sportacus said, drowning in a wave of helplessness that surge over his anger. He crouched down next to Ziggy, placing his hand on the boy’s back. “Ziggy, they’re gone now.”

As though the boy had been holding onto his dignity in front of the bullies, the boy began weeping in earnest, his small body limp. Sportacus closed his owned eyes against the stinging wetness that formed there. After he had so utterly failed the boy, he didn’t need to make it about him by crying too. If he needed it, he’d cry later. 

Through sobs Ziggy, sat up, pressed his face to Sportacus’ side, and told him the story. Those boys had been targeting him for weeks, an eternity for a child. They told him heroes didn’t exist, that he’d never be one, that the world was dark and horrible and soon would be coming for him. Maybe not that last one in so many words, but his brother who had the skill and experience to maintain several towns often ran into that philosophy. That because the world had been cruel to one person, the whole world was cruel, and everyone should suffer with them.

He almost asked the boy why he hadn’t told him, but that felt entirely the wrong question for his little friend. “I wish you had told someone so that you wouldn’t have felt so alone, Ziggy. You can tell me about things like this, I’ll listen to you.”

“I thought your crystal would let you know and you’d come save me.” He tucked his head down, shifting his shoulders in that way he had as though trying to distract from his face.

Sportacus had to close his eyes against the accusation that wasn’t an accusation, the question Ziggy was too sweet to lay at a hero’s feet. “I’m so sorry, Ziggy.”

“Did I do something wrong? Did I not need help and just did something wrong?”

“I do not think it means you do not need help, Ziggy,” Sportacus said. He took deep breaths, pulling with his diaphragm like he had been swimming to control his breathing, his tone, to keep his hands from making fists. “I think it only means the crystal believes it is a trouble that you could fix on your own.” 

He looked at Ziggy holding his cape in his hands, and felt such an exquisite pain it felt as though a hatchet had entered his side and he had to brace himself against the wave of anger that surged up to overtake him. Ziggy didn’t need his anger right now. That anger wasn’t for Ziggy anyway, it was for Sportacus, born hydralike out of a fear that he might fail Ziggy and an anger someone would threaten someone under his protection. At the heart of the matter both feelings were understandable, but about himself and what he wanted. He could go be angry when Ziggy didn’t have a use for him anymore.

When Ziggy’s silence persisted, Sportacus leaned toward him again. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you, Ziggy, whether or not you need me. I want you to be safe and happy because I care about you.”

Ziggy made a little hmph-ing sound.

“You are my friend, Ziggy. And you are special, not just special to me.”

He could the hope begin to reignite in Ziggy’s eyes.

“What makes me special?” Ziggy asked, looking up at him.

As it sometimes did, the desire to respond absolutely correctly almost overpowered him. It felt as though whole worlds held in the balance of what he said next. He wished his Pabbi was there to advise him in that brusque, affectionate way of his, or even Ithro who was a little bossy, but seemed to have a magic touch for these sorts of situations. It was just him though, and he had to answer.

“You remember, Ziggy,” Sportacus told him, and hoped he understood. “When the other children forget, or are distracted by things that are not important or not good for them, you remember. When you have learned a truth it is yours forever. It is a great gift, to hold a truth like a star inside you and never lose it.”

Ziggy’s eyes grew large, as large as they ever got. “Really?”

“Ziggy, when have I ever lied to you?”

The boy looked down again at the torn cape, red and limp in Sportacus’ hand. He offered it without a word and the boy took it, considering it. “Grownups don’t call it lying when they do it.”

Pressing his lips together, Sportacus waited for the wave of something too biased (frustration, ire, disappointment, disbelief at the poor handling the children received habitually by the adults in their life) to pass. “Maybe not, but a mistruth is a mistruth and it leads to mistrust. I may not tell you everything, Ziggy, but everything I tell you is true. I trust you with the truth and you deserve it from me. You’ll always deserve the truth from me.”

“I guess you do,” Ziggy allowed, thoughtful.

“I guess you do,” Sportacus corrected, tilting toward him to bump his shoulder and tap their heads together gently in a way that definitely wasn’t scent marking. The boy wasn’t his pup, he had no business marking him anyway. Never mind when they first met the boy had smelled so young, like milk from his breakfast and sunshine and enthusiasm underneath the choke of refined sugar sticking to him. It had made all the predisposition of his people come alive in a surge of protective instinct and natural affection. Ziggy wasn’t a baby, but some part of him kept an eye on him as though the boy was. Except when it counted apparently.

Tears spent, Ziggy took a few deep breaths against his side.

“I’m sorry they tore your cape, Ziggy,” he said for lack of anything else. Feeling a compulsion to speak since he was too afraid to move.

“It’s okay. I guess if I’m not a hero anyway. If I was I could have stopped them.”

His heart jolted loose in his chest. His respect for his Pabbi, which had always been healthy enough to survive the winter, grew even larger. Something had to be done.

“I want to tell you something important, Ziggy. It’s not a secret, but I think the people who know it don’t talk about it wait until someone is ready before telling them.”

“It is like a secret!” Ziggy said, the old enthusiasm creeping back again. “Is it magic?”

Sportacus laughed. “I guess it is. Just probably not in the way you’re thinking. Being strong, or really, really fast, those things don’t make you a hero, not a real hero. What makes you a hero is the ability to help people be better, be stronger on the inside. Because a hero can’t always be there to protect someone from everything, even if they want to with all their heart.” He felt himself get a little wet behind the eyes, but shook it off. It was good for the children to see him cry sometimes so they knew it was okay, but this didn’t feel like the right moment. “A good hero is supposed to help people be strong on their own so whatever happens they will be alright.”

“Like you then?” Ziggy looked up at him so earnestly. “You taught be how to be brave one step at a time, a-and you taught me that I can try my best, a-and that I can help my friends!”

This time when Sportacus laughed it was a little wet. “Yeah, like that.” He swallowed, composed himself. “Do you understand why those bullies were mean to you?”

Ziggy’s face scrunched up, and he sat back so his back was straight. “Because they were mean boys.”

“Yes, and what they did was wrong. That’s not why they did it though, no one is just one thing. People act that way because something is wrong in their life. Sometimes it’s because they’re afraid and they think if they make someone else afraid too it will make them bigger than someone’s fear. And sometimes they do it because someone they care about acts that way and they want that person to like them more. Sometimes it’s even because they want friends, and they don’t know how to make them, and so it makes them jealous and angry at people who are happy and have things they like and care about.”

Face creased in thought, Ziggy seemed to consider this, seemed to roll it around in his brain as he came to terms with it.

“For someone like that, if a hero was really strong and just came in and beat them up it wouldn’t teach them anything,” Sportacus said to convince himself as much as Ziggy. “It would make them feel even angrier and more scared. It is hard because everyone has a right to defend themselves and say no, but a hero coming in and hurting them, this doesn’t change anyone’s mind. It only breaks them or makes them harder and both of these things are wrong.”

“So they were mean to be because they were mad I’m happy and have friends?” 

“Probably. It’s not anything you did wrong or should be ashamed of, they just tried to make it sound the way to justify what they did. You’re not to blame for what happened, you didn’t do anything to attract their attention, it was just sad chance.”

“So I should just be their friend?” Ziggy looked up at him.

Sportacus leaned back, trying to think about how to say this. “Not right now. You shouldn’t ever put yourself in a position where someone might hurt you or take advantage of you, and you have a right to leave if you find yourself in a position like that on accident. I want you to be safe, Ziggy. Both inside and out. Right now they’re too unkind. I’ll make sure there’s someone with enough training and knowledge to talk to them and help them make better choices.”

“Okay,” Ziggy said with total faith in him and Sportacus couldn’t help it. He leaned in, knocking his forehead against the side of Ziggy’s head and left a quick swipe of his own scent across the boy’s hair. It settled part of the restlessness in him that his friend (pup) was safe and marked as part of his clan. It took him back to his own youth when his grandmother would hold up him and Ithro one at a time, rubbing her forehead against theirs before they left for the day.

“Okay,” Sportacus mirrored. “Now, why don’t we see if we can get that fixed?”

“That’s okay,” Ziggy smiled up at him. “I don’t think I need it. Not right now.”


End file.
